THE TALKING OAK. ONCE more the gate behind me falls; Once more before my face I see the moulder'd Abbey-walls, That stand within the chace. Beyond the lodge the city lies, Beneath its drift of smoke; And ah! with what delighted eyes For when my passion first began, The love, that makes me thrice a man, To yonder oak within the field And with a larger faith appeal'd For oft I talk'd with him apart, Until he plagiarised a heart, And answer'd with a voice. Tho' what he whisper'd, under Heaven None else could understand; I found him garrulously given, A babbler in the land. But since I heard him make reply Is many a weary hour; 'Twere well to question him, and try If yet he keeps the power. Hail, hidden to the knees in fern, Broad Oak of Sumner-chace, Whose topmost branches can discern The roofs of Sumner-place! Say thou, whereon I carved her name, If ever maid or spouse, As fair as my Olivia, came To rest beneath thy boughs. 'O Walter, I have shelter'd here Whatever maiden grace The good old Summers, year by year Made ripe in Sumner-chace: 'Old Summers, when the monk was fat, And, issuing shorn and sleek, Would twist his girdle tight, and pat The girls upon the cheek, Ere yet, in scorn of Peter's-pence, And number'd bead, and shrift, Bluff Harry broke into the spence And turn'd the cowls adrift: 'And I have seen some score of those Fresh faces, that would thrive When his man-minded offset rose To chase the deer at five; 'And all that from the town would stroll, Till that wild wind made work In which the gloomy brewer's soul Went by me, like a stork: 'The slight she-slips of loyal blood, And others, passing praise, Strait-laced, but all-too-full in bud For puritanic stays: 'And I have shadow'd many a group Of beauties, that were born In teacup-times of hood and hoop, 'And, leg and arm with love-knots gay, About me leap'd and laugh'd The modish Cupid of the day, And shrill'd his tinsel shaft. I swear (and else may insects prick This girl, for whom your heart is sick, 'For those and theirs, by Nature's law, Have faded long ago; But in these latter springs I saw Your own Olivia blow, |